Disclaimer: I only own the plot, the concept, any places and original characters you don't recognize, the aliases, and any articles/pieces of writing that the characters 'authored' in the course of this story.
Celestial Requiem

Chapter Three: Nocturne de la Luna

The moon, the eternal guide of ages, inspiration of the romantic and the night, it forever has a place in our minds. The symbol of the unconscious mind and our primitive natures, the moon has led us to civilization as well, as a light in the dark. The watcher of everything, she is always there, as varied her faces as the shifting waves of the ocean. A paradox, a representation of the dark and the light, its true position in the hierarchy of things impossible for the mind to fathom. I must be patient and wait; neither light nor dark, and only time will tell what I will guide.
But watch me, I will be great.

(…from the Daily Prophet)
The Ministry: Keeping Everything in Perspective

As most people do in the morning, I read the newspaper. However, when I saw the first page, the first headline, I blinked, read it over again a couple of times, blinked once more before rubbing my eyes, believing myself either to still be asleep or perhaps hallucinating. I was neither. One really can't if they have tea with their breakfast, can they? No, the caffeine had proven me right: I am insane young man living in a perfectly sane world. For, of course, one must be sane to admit they were insane, correct? But that musing is for another time. And I don't think you want to hear about neither my apparent 'insanity' nor my psychological reasons to back this claim. Besides, I don't think I even have a reference on the matter. If you do want to hear about it, well, we definitely think on the same wavelength and I will be very wary upon meeting you in person if we ever get the chance.

But once again, that isn't my point, now isn't?

What did I see exactly? I saw a full-page spread on the Ministry's attempts to quell the rising Death Eater activity raging through the country. Oh, it was a well-written article; I'll give it that. Every other word was praising the heroics of the Law Enforcement agents and the Aurors, and of course, it was extremely grateful to the 'ever-vigilant', I believe the epithet was, Cornelius Fudge. How hard everyone was working in the fight against Voldemort, what plans were being made, recent stings on suspected Death Eaters, the whole lot. There was even more emphasis on how much we owe this spectacular government of ours. Let's not forget that our lives and the lives of our families are all indebted to them.

Right.

Did you know that it took me a full seven minutes to find an article that narrated the unfortunate deaths of five muggle families in Manchester, all related to well-known and influential wizards and witches? Deaths that could've been prevented? After all, according to the previous article, one of the major bases of the Ministry's forces is in Manchester. Also, the article barely three short paragraphs long, consisting of a total of only fifteen sentences.

We owe our lives to the Ministry. That's what the front page article said, right? The exact words of Head Auror George Jeralds, I believe.

I wonder how those muggles must feel. They were killed by magic and the only mention of their deaths is a fifteen sentence long mention on page thirteen.

Is that fair, to be placing the Ministry on so high a pedestal, when they hide the amount of deaths that they had the responsibility of preventing? They are lost in the pages of history, the importance of their lives less significant than the propaganda of the government and advertisements of Chocolate Frogs and Weasley Wizard Wheezes. They are giving no honor, no brief nod of sympathy and acknowledgement, only a small square hidden behind everything else that is supposedly more crucial to our lives. I had checked the muggle newspapers for the obituaries of every deceased person that died in that incident. They were pages long, filled with the laments of family and friends, commenting on what they had done in their lives, what they could've done if they lived longer, and how they had touched the lives of all those around them. The total amount of mourners at all of the funerals amounted to about two thousand people.

And they aren't worth a mention? No, the so-called progress of the Ministry in protecting us is much more prevalent than the demise of these innocent people, who had done nothing wrong, whose brief contact with magic ended their lives.

It shows how the Ministry keeps things in perspective, doesn't it?

And just for the final clincher, all the deceased relatives that were wizards and witches? There was no history of conflict or argument between them.

And yet…not a single one of them attended any of the funerals.

---Harrison Evans

Outside the window of his compartment, a wiry young man observed the ruckus of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters behind the green-tinted lenses of thin-wired silver sunglasses. He lounged casually on the plush cushions of the seat, his feet up and his arms folded nonchalantly across his chest, with the grace of an imperious tiger. A black boot tapped lazily in the air, the young man wearing well-fitting black jeans that were ripped in some places, a white collared shirt, and a plain black blazer. His black hair, stillunruly as ever, was streaked with bright green that matched the vibrant emerald shade of his eyes. Packed away was a slightly battered trunk and in the corner was a birdcage, a snowy white owl snoozing within it.

This was Harry Potter, sixteen years old, who had just journeyed through hardship and depression and was trying to get a handle on his life, all the while waiting for more pain and various attempts on his life. He seemed pretty unconcerned about it all, really.

It was easy for him to spot which individuals were the Order members in the crowd. They were the ones that were looking around everywhere in every nook and cranny, trying to be inconspicuous but failing miserably. In particular, a large family of redheads was abysmal in their efforts. He shrugged indifferently. They were still treating him as if he were a child. They should know by now that he could take care of himself pretty well. His years at Hogwarts had certainly proven that and even last year, he was probably the only one out of the original six that set out from Hogwarts to the Department of Mysteries that still had any fight left in them when Voldemort decided to make his 'welcome' appearance.

He wasn't going out to meet them. They'll see he was fine soon enough. With a slight lurch the train began to move forward, the steam billowing past the window, parents waving as they pulled out of the station and towards Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Sighing, he leant back against the cushions, watching the bustling city turn into unremarkable suburbia, then finally demure green countryside. They whizzed by him at tremendous speed, veiled behind a thin layer of steam from the engine. The solitude was comforting, the feeling of eyes constantly on him for the moment abated in their mission to drive him to insanity. It was nice. Very nice.

After quite a few hours of this, in which, he knew that the train ride was nearly complete, the compartment door opened. Harry smirked, not once looking to see who had entered his compartment. "Hello, Hermione," he greeted cordially. "I see you've found me."

A long-suffering sigh was breathed into the air before the compartment door was shut with a snap. Hermione Granger, the bushy-haired intellectual of the so-called 'Golden Trio', then sat down beside Harry, all the while looking over at him with observant brown eyes. The trunk that had preceded her into the room was stacked neatly in the rack on top of Harry's, the contrast the new butter color that hers possessed contrasted greatly against the deep brown that was his old one. A paperback book was placed on an empty seat, its cover hidden from view.

"The prefect meeting took awhile," he commented, finally glancing her way. She had grown prettier and more feminine, but in her own way, still the same Hermione Granger. No dramatic wild changes, just a development, an evolution, into someone that she always was. Which he thought suited her better. She was no Cho Chang, but herself. Though he did notice that he was taller than her by at least three or so inches.

"Do you know how hard it was to track you down?" she chided. "First, there was that monster of a prefect meeting and then it was an hour searching for you. And I'm beginning to give up when I come across a locked compartment with the sign 'If you can read this, then you can come in.---HP'. According to everyone else I asked, all they could come to a consensus was that it was Egyptian."

"Egyptian?" Harry chuckled out. "Should've thought of that one. Thanks! I'll be sure to use that instead of Swahili."

"You're incorrigible," she retorted, though she was biting back a smile. "Absolutely incorrigible."

"Thanks. What was it that needed to be discussed and all?" It was then that he was confronted with a giant sheaf of paper, an inch thick, which was emblazoned with the title of… "Duties of the Vigilant Prefect?" Harry intoned. "Beyond the fact that it sounds like something Percy Weasley would worship, didn't you get something like this last year?"

"No, we only got a lecture on what to do," Hermione replied, taking back the giant booklet. "This, however, dictates that we're supposed to rat out any suspicious activity at all, also what qualifies as it." The young woman scowled, placing a frizzy strand that had become loose from her hair clip behind her ear. "That's really only the beginning. We're supposed to spy, interrogate, everything! I'll have you know that I'm actually thinking of turning in my prefect badge."

Gaze focused outside the window, the green-eyed teen nodded. "So you object to being the secret police of Hogwarts? I know several people that would love to take up that post. Again." The Inquisitorial Squad and their malicious deeds still remained fresh in his memory. In particular, the sneering face of one blonde Slytherin grinning in sadistic triumph stood out starkly against the rest.

A grin flitted across Hermione's face. "Malfoy was stripped of his post this year, if you're interested." But the frown soon returned, drawing Harry's attention again. "But it wasn't because of his actions. It was because he was a Death Eater's son. He was also banned from quidditch. It was quite a scene since they 'regrettably' forgot to tell him until he stepped through the door of the prefects' car. They couldn't find another girl to take the spot away from Pansy, so she's still a prefect. However, Blaise Zabini is the new prefect now."

"I hope he knows how to run. Though I should be careful myself. Death threats, even from a prissy rich boy, should be taken seriously. And this somehow will be blamed on me, anyway. How's Ron?"

"Worse, if possible. He's lapping the whole thing up." She caught his eye, her own narrowed in anger at the absent redhead, but curious as to what he had to say. "What are we going to do about it?"

"Ignore him. If he wants to show that he is better than me, which I hardly care about in the first place, then let him. A show-off wishes only for attention and we only hurt him by not giving it to him." His voice was firmly neutral, no emotion present at all.

"Good. You had the same idea in mind," his friend responded. "It's why he isn't here. First he was positively giddy at Malfoy's disgrace and then started parading around as if he were the one in charge of all the prefects." Harry snorted. This was reminiscent of Percy, the brother that Ron hated for abandoning the family. Surely, it was noticeable the resemblance now? But apparently, it wasn't. The fact that he was trained specially by the Order of the Phoenix for the purpose of protecting the "great Harry Potter" had evidently gone to his head. "He found Seamus and some Ravenclaw boys talking about spells and quidditch. I tried to encourage him to leave, but after about ten minutes of his blather, I realized that he wasn't coming."

"It's no loss, Hermione," he assured. "You said his job was to protect me, right?"

"Yes…"

"Well, I don't see him now, do I? I'll add that to ignoring him: making his appointed task exceedingly difficult."

"What about quidditch?" she pointed out. Harry imperceptibly winced. It was the thought he hated thinking about. It was unduly unfair in his circumstances. Just for defending someone's honor as well as being the favorite person of Delores Umbridge to torture, he was banned from what few activities that made him happy. "He is the keeper, isn't he? You'll have to work with him."

"I would, if I were still on the quidditch team." He silenced Hermione before she could speak, already reading her words from the angry expression crossing her face. "A ban for life is a ban for life, apparently."

"Didn't Dumbledore-?!"

"Supposedly."

"Oh." Realization crossed her face. "You think he did this because you have been hurt on the quidditch field practically every year you've been at Hogwarts?"

"Exactly." Harry readjusted his position, bringing his arms up around his head. "But I won't let it show. It'll worry him more if I show complete apathy to it all. It'll also keep my contact with Ron to a minimum. All that I have to be concerned about really is how to keep up my writing career."

"You can't be serious!" she exclaimed. "We're at school! It's going to be difficult enough to keep up with advanced classes and all. And we're away from the muggle world. I've been following your work - don't smirk at me!" Harry's grin became even wider. "The ones in the muggle newspapers are among your favorites. How are you going to stay in contact with the muggle news all the way at Hogwarts?"

"One person: Polonius Keyes. He's my new accountant and financial advisor. I arranged for him to send me several papers every so often. There's also a laptop which I got modified using some…contacts."

Hermione blinked for a second before laughing. "You've thought of everything haven't you, Harrison? I was wondering how the Order didn't detect a change in your accounts."

The black-haired teen smirked. "I like to think that I have. They didn't know because they are now in my hands. Are you willing to join me in this escapade of mine? It's rather enjoyable."

"I'll think on it. I'm still wary of the whole situation."

"And that is why, my dear friend who has yet to have an alias, is why you should trust Polonius Keyes. Being the head accountant of Gringotts does have its advantages, I hear."

Hermione scrutinized him for a long minute, her eyes roaming from his face, to his clothes, to his body language. "You've changed, Harry. But is it for better or for worse? I know you're stronger now, it's easy to tell, but do you feel that it's worth it after…"

Taking a readying breath, he said simply. "Personally, Hermione? I don't know. But I'd like to think it's for the better. And that all that suffering and pain that I've gone through…I feel that I've finally truly learned from it all. This time, I have power by being myself, not because I'm the supposed 'savior' or the Harry Potter. What I say has merit on itself for once." He continued, his voice serene and calm. "To you, I am your friend. But in the eyes of the Order of the Phoenix, and possibly Ron now, I am nothing more than a weapon. The means to achieve whatever ends they wish by taking advantage of me. But just because they think that, it doesn't mean this 'weapon' has to comply with their wishes."

The Great Hall was swelling with people and chatter. All of the faces were happy and celebrative, coos and yells of salutations ringing through the air, so many that it all didn't matter anymore, for you couldn't hear a thing. There were faces here and there that were pale and sad, but anger and indignation were the emotions more commonly shared by the Slytherin table. The separation between the houses had never been more evident: it was as if there was a line cutting the green from the others. Harry knew that it would only make matters worse to separate than to be together. One did not ignore a potential danger; they took care of before it became an actual, honest-to-goodness hazard. But when was there never a time when the popular - and more often, stupid - trend wasn't accepted?

One loud group in particular was crowded around the Gryffindor table, though most of the talk wasn't amongst themselves but rather focused on the admiration of one individual. This is person was someone Harry knew well. Or, he thought he did. Truth be told, he was reconsidering it. He was tall and gangly, with spiky red hair and prideful brown eyes, the large smile on his face showing his satisfaction at being the center of attention quite obvious. Three badges were pinned in a perfectly straight line across his robes: Gryffindor, Prefect, and Quidditch Captain.

Standing just on the outside of the doors, observing the scene within while others passed by to enter, Harry commented lightly to Hermione next to him, "I never thought I would accuse you of this, Hermione, but you were really understated the situation. Retract my previous thoughts, he's worse than Percy."

Hermione clucked in disapproval. "Look at him! I should slap him for acting like such a puffed-up idiotic, egotistical pig. But ignoring him would hurt more. And it would probably help my sanity."

"That's the spirit, I guess," Harry answered, before grinning at the sight before him in amusement. "You might never get a chance to slap him after this, though. The Slytherins look ready to commit murder. And I'm counting Professor Snape in that collection, as well." His eyes then returned to where Hermione was beside him, her stance angry and the knuckles of the hand that held her wand were white. "You were joking when you said that Professor Snape was a fan of mine, weren't you?"

She blinked for a moment. "Must you always change the subject so suddenly?"

"If I deem it so necessary."

"A huge fan. Sometimes even quotes you." Harry, to his credit, made a mock gesture of gagging. "He actually checked the Hogwarts records to see if 'you' were ever a student here. Hopefully, one of his Slytherins."

Those words from so long ago reverberated in his mind. You could be great, you know…and Slytherin would help you on the way to greatness. Well, it looked like he'd have to take an alternate route to greatness. He had missed that opportunity at eleven, but he wasn't going to overlook his chance this time. "Looks like we'll have to keep him in the dark then. Wouldn't want to break his fragile heart now, do we? Oh, almost forgot." Harry reached into the pocket of his robes, taking out a small thin case, throwing it at Hermione to catch it. She fumbled it for a moment, but succeeded in catching it.

After opening the clasp, Hermione was soon holding a pair of red-tinted sunglasses in her hands; the gold frames that held the glass were in a sleek, futuristic style more common to muggle fashions. They were small, not meant to overwhelm the face, as some sunglasses were wont to do. Hermione examined them skeptically, before looking at him and his own green shades, an eyebrow raised in an unspoken question. Harry, in response, just shrugged. "Mine are prescription, if that's what you're curious about. Besides, I needed to get you a birthday present. They're magical."

"What do they do?"

"C'mon! I won't ruin the surprise. It's much more fun anyway to find out on your own. Merlin knows I've had fun when I first got these. I got them at the same place I got my new clothes."

"So I've noticed," was the dry reply as she slipped on the present. "Gryffindor colors? You look like a Slytherin, Harry, with all your changes. That's going to cause some talk."

"Then let them talk. It only proves that for one thing, they really have nothing important to do with their lives." Harry straightened his robes, the difference between his garments and the norm of Hogwarts clear. The fabric was more expensive and durable, a deeper black. Sinuous runic designs, so tiny and elaborate in their gold and silver stitching that they resembled a smooth flowing river, lined the collar and edges. It was actually quite simple looking, but Harry carried it off well. Seine McCallister went above and beyond the expectations he had held when he had ventured into Knockturn Alley. As a result, he paid her well for her work. He could tell immediately from the first time he was fitted in them, that what the woman said to him about her products after entering that back room was true: Madame Malkin paled in comparison. "And it will take much more than civil conversation to get the name of my tailor out of me. They happen to run the extraordinarily suspicious, you-need-to-know-a-previous-customer-or-else-get-out kind of business. But they're the best, I'll give them that."

Ending their conversation, both walked into the Great Hall, following behind a group of talkative third years. Immediately, most of the talk that had pervaded the atmosphere was hushed, before rising again louder than it was before. The group that was previously surrounding Ron were now looking avidly at Harry and Hermione as they passed them by to go to the other end of the table, their whispers audible, but so muddled together that it was indecipherable to tell what they were saying. As they went by the redhead, he saw a brief scowl flit across his face before an arrogant grin replaced it. Ignoring the action, the pair went to the opposite end of the table, sitting next to Neville, who they greeted briefly. Ron soon joined them, a smug smile adorning his face now.

Harry was no longer paying attention though. Apathetic emerald green locked with concerned light blue. The lack of emotion that was shown made Albus Dumbledore even more worried than ever. It showed in every deepening crease that lined the old man's face. But that wasn't the primary goal of Harry Potter. No, he felt that there were more important things to deal with.

Idly, he tapped his quill against his parchment. It had to be the fourth day of classes. Hermione, sitting next to him, gave him an exasperated look, though he could tell that she too was also somewhat bored with the material. Harry made a soft sigh, trying to focus on the monotonous voice of their new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, one Professor Desmond, but found it hard to. He did admit that the teacher knew what he was talking about – which was a rarity among Harry's overall experience with Defense Against the Dark Arts professors. But he really didn't make you care for it. Rather, he made one wish that the dark arts would just kill you and kill you mercifully.

He could already imagine the scene in his head…

"Voldemort! Hey, Voldemort! Over here!"
"Potter! Why are you here?! Ah…so you've finally realized that it's impossible to defeat me? Well, I'm sure you'll find your peace in death!"
"Great!"
"…What?"
"Wonderful. You see that's exactly why I came here."
"You…came here…to die? That's it? No fight, no witty retorts, nothing?"
"Yep!"
"…You've gone mad, haven't you?"
"Nah, Tommy my boy. I was just suffering from boredom in practically all my classes. So! Ever done a mercy killing?"

…That'd actually be funny, really.

He hated to admit it, but most of his classes were boring in this fashion. It wasn't really the teachers that were excruciatingly uninteresting. It was more of the topics themselves. Unlike other subjects and the regular OWL and NEWT level classes, where the teachers themselves decided what and how to teach, the ministry and the school governors kept a firm hold on what was taught to the Advanced NEWT students. The Advanced NEWT students those that had scored among the highest in the year level, one group of students from all the houses put together. The curriculum was completely set and was not to be taught in any other way than specified. More often than not, the professors themselves hated it. It was easy to read in the tightened lips as McGonagall taught about the more complicated theories of Animal-to-Animal transfiguration, in Flitwick's sorrowful face as they were taught how to create simple wind spells. Professor Snape took it out by being sourer than ever. Even some of his 'talented' Slytherins were not immune to his abrasive insults.

There was also the fact that they were going far too slow. Well, in his opinion and Hermione's at least. Studying had become somewhat second nature to him now, but he did in slow steps, not completely devoting himself to the matter. Most, however, were baffled. But Harry felt that he had a clear grasp of what was taught and understood quite thoroughly, as well that he could go ahead. Hermione also seemed disappointed by the sluggish pace, but she had not said anything. Yet.

The few days that had gone by were made a bit more entertaining by the antics of one Ronald Weasley. Sure, Harry was annoyed to no end by the conceited manner that Ron had now adopted, but what he dubbed 'Ron-running' was no doubt amusing. It probably never occurred to Dumbledore that Hermione would've probably made a better bodyguard (as if he needed one to begin with) just on the sheer fact of her knowledge and that he was in almost every single class with her. Alas, the old man had probably thought that Harry would have just gone into NEWT classes. Ron did try, though, to his credit. It was becoming a bit of a game to Harry now, outwitting Ron as the redhead try to shadow him in the hallways, corner him into talking, etc. Hermione feigned vexation at the entire mess, but he could tell that she found it funny on some level. Ron, without question, seemed to find his unconcerned and difficult manner frustrating. For example, their conversation at breakfast on the first day back:

"Harry! How was your summer?"
"Fine. Nothing much. You know the Dursleys."
"That's too bad, mate. 'Cause I had the best time! Would you believe that some of the 'old crowd' decided to teach me some of what they knew?"
"Really?"
"Yeah! I learned so much! Shield spells, different offensive spells, everything! I think it'll really help me become an Auror. It's too bad that I missed the cut for Snape's classes. The git gave me only an 'A'. But I think that nine OWLs will carry me pretty far. But what do you think about my summer."
 "That's nice, Ron."
"…That's it?"
"Basically. Oh, here are our schedules."
"Ah, Charms first today with the Ravenclaws. That's not so bad. Too bad you're not with us, Hermione; it's obvious that you got into the Advanced class. Let's go, Harry, I can't wait to show you all the spells I learned."
"Maybe for you it won't be so bad. Have fun then."
"What are you talking about? C'mon, Harry!"
"I've got Potions with Snape."
"WHAT?!"
"Advanced NEWT level."
"You're in…all Advanced NEWT level classes?!"
"Yep. I got 12 OWLs. Hermione, we better go. You know how Snape is. See you, later Ron."
"Wait a minute-"

Was it a crime? He doubted it. And it was practice for avoiding this persistent crowd of girls that seemed to be following him everywhere. It was easy to know when they were around. Hark! The sound of giggling! According to Hermione, whose connections within the dormitories of the girls was a valuable asset, it seemed as if a number of Hogwarts girls now 'liked' him and saw him as on the market, these including Parvati and Lavender. That chance daydream (or daymare?) in Knockturn Alley seemed oddly prophetic now.

What it did give him was enough time to think. He did have quite a few articles due out in the next couple of days. Granted, most of his readers knew that he was still a student, though they were surprised when they found out. Particularly Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, who probably thought that they were reading the product of some thirty-something with nothing better to do than rant about anything. Hermione, after much persuasion and overall pestering from him, decided to write as well. She was concerned whether they would accept her or not, as ever since Harrison Evans decided to write, there had been an influx of opinion writers looking for a spot in the paper. It just took a simple letter from him to get the papers, both muggle and magical, to take the work of 'Helena Crawford' (she decided to take her mother's maiden name, as well). It didn't take long for her name to get out into the public as well.

Though it got him thinking. In the considerably short amount of time, Harrison Evans and now Helena Crawford were gaining wide recognition as well as causing quite a stir socially, in both worlds. Opinions were changing rapidly and it was easy to note that the Ministry lost some of its luster due to the article he had put out a few days ago. And he could tell on the rather worried face of the Headmaster and the smiling face of Professor Snape every single morning (the poor man didn't even know that the same person he yelled at every lesson in the past six years was his favorite writer) that in some ways what he was saying wasn't the same as the ideals that the Order of the Phoenix preached. Ah well. Too bad for them.

If one person was able to do so much, two were doing more. Imagine more in the mix. Should he consider bringing more into his scheme? It was a thought. If he did decide to include others, they would have to have to be intelligent people who weren't afraid of what others said about them and wanted to speak out. Also, they'd have to have strong opinions with the ability to express them. It really didn't matter what kind of an opinion, just an opinion, would be nice. And they could keep a secret. That was a must.

Hmm…he'd have to consider it thoroughly. Just because it seems like a good a idea at the time, didn't mean that it was in reality.

(…from the Daily Prophet)
The Lackluster Criticisms of a Bored Student/Writer

Let's face it; all of you have wanted to write this one. Do not deny it! Well, I will achieve this dream for all of you, to those who wanted to scream their views of what they think of school out into the open, not just to their best friends. This is for all of you! Rejoice!

Now that we have that settled now.

As I mentioned in one of my previous articles – can't remember which one, but I'm sure I mentioned it at one time or the other – I am still a student. I attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, supposedly the best school of magic in the world, but I'll withhold judgment since I've never been to any of the other magical schools. Best to be fair, after all. Ignorance is the best way to put one's foot in their mouth, or another's fist into their face. Either way, not good ways to go.

I won't say what house I am from, though it is the truth that I probably shouldn't be in it. The Sorting Hat itself said so. But alas, the choice was made and here I am. To empathize with me, just imagine I was the somewhat quirky fellow in whatever house you are/were in. That will do just fine, as it basically describes me in a nutshell.

Let's say that through some amazing twist of fate, in which whoever handling fate must have been extremely well inebriated at the time, I achieved quite a number of OWLs and made it into the prestigious Advanced NEWT classes. This is all well and fine, certainly. I go and learn a number more spells and theory than you do and the Ministry will immediately put me in some high-end job so I can make the rest of your life a living hell while I laugh at the novelty of the entire situation. Granted, this happens quite a bit, but I doubt it will ever happen to me. After all my articles criticizing the Ministry, I'd think they'd be more than happy to just throw me off a cliff, or at least deport or banish me. Whatever shoots their fancy, I say. For lack of a better phrase, I'll use the one that my rather perverted dorm mate said randomly in the early hours of the morning when asked how well did he think that our Transfiguration professor would say about the essay we had due that day, "As long as it isn't kinky."

This all must be so familiar to all you Hogwarts alumni. Quirky guy, perverted guy, early hour conversations that go nowhere, what's next? I'll spare you. I'm not talking about that at all. Maybe some other time.

For all of you that had thought that being in the Advanced NEWT classes must be amazing and that we learn a variety of incredible things, you are sorely mistaken. We are bored out of our tiny, little minds! The teachers are not to blame for this. Not at all, so don't send any mail to them saying to cease my torture. My potions professor would probably not listen anyway. Unlike other classes, as the OWL and regular NEWT classes, the school governors as well as the Ministry of Magic sets the Advanced NEWT curriculum jointly. Everything must be taught in a certain way at a certain time, no excuses. You can imagine the bafflement when we are confronted with a quiz on what we had learned in the past two days of class and have no idea of what to put down. Most of us had barely understood the subject matter to begin with. I am one of the lucky few that feel that we go too slowly, but I am a man of the people, writing for the majority of us poor students.

It is easy to see that the teachers aren't too pleased with the classes either. I can't blame them either. For the most part, the directions placed upon them inhibit their regular teaching methods considerably. You can see it in the face and the attitude of every single professor here. It doesn't help that the syllabus itself is unbearably boring beyond belief. That's the second reason, other than the fact that the subject matter is incomprehensible at best, why we are confused. The only remotely interesting class anymore is Potions, where the acerbic wit of the potions master as well as the threat of losing considerable house points is a pretty good reason to be attentive and a wonderful class to love. There's a reason why Professor Severus Snape is my favorite teacher, after all. I'm sure my good friend, Helena Crawford, would agree that he is an excellent teacher, though she is more partial to the fair and no-nonsense attitude of Transfiguration teacher, Professor McGonagall.

What do I think? Change the system!

But what do I know? I'm a student. If the education system listened to me, there would be only three days of school each week with sweets and butterbeer served to us students at our every whim, quidditch matches weekly. Not that it wouldn't be a bad thing, you have to agree.

---Harrison Evans

"You just had to write this, didn't you, Harry?"

"Yep, that I did. Don't be so concerned, I didn't exactly say that I was in the Advanced NEWT classes; just implying the stresses that one of the Advanced NEWT students feels at the moment. And that it's a possibility that I am. Or that I might not be. Either way, I'm speaking out for us, Hermione!"

"I suppose that ambiguity will throw people off. Well, I can say that Professor Snape seems to be in a considerably good mood."

"Why do you think I wrote it? If he thinks that 'Harrison Evans' and 'Helena Crawford' are in his Advanced NEWT Potions class and that they like him, he might go easy on those essays we have to hand in today, even if he doesn't know who we are."